Chapter 2 - The House Forty Minutes Away

Lorenzo left the mansion before the music stopped.

I followed because Peter asked me to.

Isabella followed because Lorenzo did not tell her not to.

Richard stayed behind.

So did Lorenzo’s uncle.

That mattered.

The address led to a small white house.

Forty-three minutes away.

A porch light was on.

Lorenzo stood at the gate.

He did not move.

Peter whispered:

“She knows you might come.”

Lorenzo looked at him.

“You told her?”

“No.”

“She wrote yesterday.”

“Yes.”

“She still believed I might never answer.”

“Yes.”

Lorenzo stared at the house.

Then walked to the door.

He knocked once.

Nothing.

Again.

Footsteps.

The door opened.

Sarah Vale stood there.

Sixty.

Gray through dark hair.

Blue sweater.

Bare feet.

She looked at Lorenzo.

Her hand covered her mouth.

Nobody spoke.

Then:

“Son.”

Lorenzo’s face changed.

“Don’t.”

She froze.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t call me that yet.”

Her eyes filled.

“Okay.”

He took the newest letter from his jacket.

“You wrote this yesterday.”

“Yes.”

“You have been forty minutes away for twelve years.”

“Yes.”

“You watched my graduation.”

“Yes.”

“You came back on my fifteenth birthday.”

“Yes.”

“And every time someone told you I didn’t want you, you believed them.”

Sarah looked down.

“Not every time.”

Lorenzo frowned.

“What does that mean?”

She stepped aside.

“Come in.”

The living room was simple.

Books.

Old photographs.

No Moretti wealth.

No luxury.

On one wall was a frame.

Inside:

A school photograph of Lorenzo at thirteen.

Another at sixteen.

Another at twenty-one.

Another from a newspaper when he became head of the family business.

Lorenzo stared.

“How did you get these?”

Sarah looked at Peter.

Peter answered:

“I mailed some.”

Lorenzo turned.

“You helped her?”

“After I realized the forwarding orders were wrong.”

“When?”

“Eight years ago.”

Lorenzo stared.

“You knew too.”

Peter lowered his head.

“I suspected.”

“You brought me thirty-two letters tonight.”

“Yes.”

“Why tonight?”

Peter looked at Sarah.

She answered.

“Because I stopped asking him to wait.”

Silence.

Lorenzo looked at her.

“You asked him not to tell me?”

“Yes.”

His face hardened.

“Why?”

Sarah sat down.

“Because your uncle found me.”

Isabella froze.

“When?”

Sarah looked at her.

“Two years ago.”

Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.

“What did he say?”

“That if I contacted you, he would give police evidence showing I stole from the family.”

“You did?”

“No.”

Peter shook his head.

“She didn’t.”

Sarah continued.

“But he had documents.”

“Forged?”

“Yes.”

“By Richard?”

Silence.

Isabella looked at Peter.

Peter said nothing.

Lorenzo understood.

“Richard forged them.”

Sarah nodded.

“Some.”

“Some?”

She looked toward the hall.

A man stepped out.

Mid-thirties.

Dark hair.

Same eyes as Lorenzo.

Lorenzo stood.

“Who are you?”

The man stopped.

Sarah closed her eyes.

Lorenzo looked at her.

“No.”

She whispered:

“His name is Daniel.”

Lorenzo stared.

“My father’s second family.”

Sarah nodded.

Daniel looked at Lorenzo.

“I’m your half brother.”

Silence.

Isabella whispered:

“Oh God.”

Lorenzo’s expression went empty.

“How old?”

“Thirty-five.”

Lorenzo laughed once.

“My father had him before me.”

Sarah shook her head.

“No.”

“What?”

Daniel answered.

“Our father met my mother before he married Sarah.”

Lorenzo stared.

“So Richard told one truth.”

Sarah nodded.

“Partly.”

“What part was the lie?”

“That I disappeared because I discovered Daniel.”

Lorenzo looked at Daniel.

“Then why did you disappear?”

Sarah reached under the coffee table.

A metal box.

Inside:

Receipts.

Bank statements.

One photograph.

Richard Crane.

Lorenzo’s uncle.

And Lorenzo’s father.

All three outside a warehouse.

Sarah placed it on the table.

“Because I discovered they were moving money together.”

Lorenzo stared.

“All three?”

“Yes.”

“Richard said he and my uncle were stealing from my father.”

Sarah shook her head.

“No.”

“Then my father was involved.”

“At first.”

Lorenzo looked away.

Sarah continued.

“He wanted out.”

“When?”

“After Daniel’s mother died.”

Daniel’s face tightened.

Lorenzo looked at him.

“What happened to her?”

Daniel answered:

“Car accident.”

Sarah said:

“No.”

Daniel turned.

“What?”

She looked at him.

“It was never an accident.”

Silence.

Daniel stared.

“You told me it was.”

“I was told it was.”

“By whom?”

Sarah looked at Lorenzo.

Then said:

“Your uncle.”

Lorenzo’s eyes hardened.

“Of course.”

Sarah opened the box again.

Another photograph.

A wrecked car.

Date:

Twenty-two years earlier.

Two years before Sarah disappeared.

Peter whispered:

“Where did you get that?”

Sarah answered:

“From Lorenzo’s father.”

Lorenzo froze.

“My father gave you this?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“The night he threw me out.”

Silence.

Lorenzo stared.

“That makes no sense.”

Sarah’s eyes filled.

“He threw me out in front of them.”

“Richard and my uncle.”

“Yes.”

“But after they left, he found me.”

Lorenzo did not move.

“He told you to run.”

Sarah nodded.

“Because he knew they were watching.”

Isabella whispered:

“So the affair story—”

“Was staged.”

Sarah looked at Lorenzo.

“Your father pretended to believe it.”

Lorenzo’s face changed.

“Why?”

“Because he thought it was the only way to get me out alive.”

Silence.

Lorenzo stared at the thirty-two letters Peter had brought in a second bundle.

“My father protected you.”

“At first.”

“What changed?”

Sarah looked at him.

“He changed his mind.”

Lorenzo frowned.

“About what?”

“About bringing me back.”

“Why?”

Sarah looked at Daniel.

Then at Lorenzo.

“Because he learned Daniel’s mother had been killed.”

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Silence.

“And he thought I would be next.”